inner. You refused
liqueurs, but I think you drank two glasses of port. George, what has
come over you? What has stirred your slow-moving blood to fancies like
these? Bah! We are playing with one another. Listen! For the sake of our
friendship, George, I beg you to grant me this great favor. Go to Paris
to-morrow and help Phyllis!"

"You mean it?"

"God knows I do. If ever I took you seriously, George--if ever I feared
to lose the woman I love--well, I should be a coward for my own sake to
rob her of help when she needs it so greatly. Be her friend, George, and
mine. For the rest the fates must provide!"

"The fates!" Duncombe answered. "Ay, it seems to me that they have been
busy about my head to-night. It is settled, then. I will go!"

CHAPTER VI

THE VANISHING LADY

At precisely half-past nine on the following evening Duncombe alighted
from his _petite voiture_ in the courtyard of the Grand Hotel, and
making his way into the office engaged a room. And then he asked the
question which a hundred times on the way over he had imagined himself
asking. A man to whom nervousness in any shape was almost unknown, he
found himself only able to control his voice and manner with the
greatest difficulty. In a few moments he might see her.

"You have a young English lady--Miss Poynton--staying here, I believe,"
he said. "Can you tell me if she is in now?"

The clerk looked at him with sudden interest.

"Miss Poynton is staying here, sir," he said. "I do not believe that she
is in just now. Will you wait one moment?"

He disappeared rapidly, and was absent for several minutes. When he
returned he came out into the reception hall.

"The manager would be much obliged if you would step into his office for
a moment, sir," he said confidentially. "Will you come this way?"

Duncombe followed him into a small room behind the counter. A
gray-haired man rose from his desk and saluted him courteously.

"Sir George Duncombe, I believe," he said. "Will you kindly take a
seat?"

Duncombe did as he was asked. All the time he felt that the manager was
scrutinizing him curiously.

"Your clerk," he said, "told me that you wished to speak to me."

"Exactly!" the manager answered. "You inquired when you came in for Miss
Poynton. May I ask--are you a friend of hers?"

"I am here on behalf of her friends," Duncombe answered. "I have letters
to her."

The manager bowed gravely.

"I trust," he said, "that you will soon ha